


High on Pain

by KopiLuwak



Series: [Mingled] [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood, High Ichigo study, Lots of sensations, M/M, Manly gay shit, No Romance, No Smut, POV First Person, POV Kurosaki Ichigo, Yet nothing really gay, lots of internal thoughts, no nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KopiLuwak/pseuds/KopiLuwak
Summary: It's all about blood and flesh and being high on pain, silent suffering on the desert sand and the feeling you get just before a syncope. He's not weak, he never was, but this time he just sounds like he's going insane, thinking out loud how it'd be to mingle with Grimmjow, and no one understands but mingle he does.





	High on Pain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori/gifts).



> I'm not usually a fan of first person, present tense written texts, but well, sometimes they just appear like that in our minds.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

Because it is too much.

Because it is too much.

It is too much pressure.

It is physically impossible.

It's hurting me.

It's hurting me so deep, so hard.

I'm suffering right now, and his heavy gaze doesn't help one bit.

I can't read it, just as I can't read him, and I guess I'll never quite be able to.

It's beating fast in my head, fast, and hard, and my whole world is spinning around me. The only thing steady being him, his hard body, and those awfully blue eyes.

The damaged and bloody sword is dangling in his loose grip, for about a half-second. Its lethal blade looking right into my eyes in a promise of death, but not before blood and pain. Yet again. He isn't smiling. No manic grin, no mad expression. That's good. Or is it? Compared to the usual, he looks unhappy. Unhappy when finally, he gets to kick my arse once and for all. Isn't he supposed to enjoy it at least a little?  
Maybe it sounds too easy to him.

‘Get the hell up,’ he growls at me.

How charming. He sounds angry at best. Annoyed, maybe. Blood's dripping from my forehead and my left arm wipes it for me, how nice of it.

Annoyed.

‘Stop fucking around and fight for real, Shinigami.’

Yeah well, I would if I could, stupid Arrancar.

Though you can't feel how it's pounding in my head, in my body, in my―

No. You just can't.

And you, how're you faring?

He's standing proud, almost straight-faced except for his furrowed brows, sometimes twitching when he looks at me. Blood on his clothes, and blood on his skin. His, and mine. Trickling down from various places, staining the white of his hakama, tainting, licking his skin as it flows, following the defined lines of his muscles as it falls down to the floor. A puddle is forming and it's not his life flowing out of his veins, but mostly mine. I'm looking right into the hole in his stomach, and I end up laughing weakly, my nose scrunched up and my face certainly resembling a grimace more than anything else, as I see a small cascade forming here, gravity making the red liquid look like the natural phenomenon that is a waterfall. This is so out of place, especially in the middle of the fucking desert, in the middle of his _body._

‘The hell you laughin' about, you fuckin' creep―you're. Half. _Dead._ ’

I raise my brows at him, attempting to smile. In my head, it is cocky. But it might just look lame in the real world. ‘What the hell are _you **not**_ laughing about. You oughta fucking smile that shit-eating grin of yours, shouldn't you?’  
He frowns, and his cold, impossibly blue eyes widen comically, looking like big round balls for a second before narrowing again and into slits, piercing holes right through me. What he says next, I never hear, because I'm lost in the contemplation of those eyes, trying to understand how it is possible for them to be _so_ blue. Some inner parts of myself might be yelling at me at the moment, others wondering why, and what the hell I'm being appreciative of, but really―I don't quite hear them either. My mind is shut down. My gaze travels from his definitely annoyed face, to the rest of his body.

I wonder if, in his open wounds, our bloods are getting mixed together. If I can crawl under his very skin, and into his flesh, kiss and bite and eat it, and mingle with his being without him even noticing. And also, if I'm going crazy. _I'm mingling with his being without him even noticing._ Eating him from the inside. I ponder whether he can feel it, the serpentine flow of this life fluid in his veins, the marking of my teeth in him. Just him and I becoming one, and hell I feel so _hot_ in here, I don't understand. The idea is crazy but it sounds marvellous, to become _one_ with a sort of _blood_ pact, and I am gaping at him―and my head is spinning so harshly I think I might collapse right here and now.

I'm panting, and my legs are shaking. Couldn't even tell up from down, or whether I'm standing, falling, or just lying on the floor. It sure feels like I'm falling, like I've been for at least a minute or two, yet I never reach the ground.

He, on the other hand, looks perfectly even, and controlled. Still bloody annoyed with me, though. His grip is now firm on the hilt of his sword, or so I think. He hasn't got the resolve to kill. He shifts, and the next second, he's walking slowly towards me. He doesn't look... threatening right now. Not that much. That's good. But felines... One can never predict how they're gonna behave, heh? I'll just... close my eyes for a second, right? Waiting for him. We'll see what we'll do, then.

  


_Don't you kill me, though. Not yet._

‘I've been waiting to kill you for so long.’

I frown, because I do know the fact. But you don't look like you're going to kill, Grimmjow.

‘Think I'll stop now? Fucking naïve.’

Ah, if you say so. What a pity. I guess it can't be helped.  
I've got no strength left anyway. Can't do anything.

  


I sense him approaching. Hear the ruffle of clothes, the soft crackling of sand under his feet, the blood, now most likely cold, dripping slowly, irregularly. And then, I feel. Cold metal on my neck, just above my Adam's apple. Makes me want to swallow, but I can't. Soft hair tickling my face. A hot breath against my ear, and a pathetic excuse for a smile on my skin. Jawbones. He sounds so fucking sad. His grip on my free hand is so strong it hurts, and brings me back into reality, for a few seconds.  
I know I'm always scowling, but this time, it feels stronger.  
The smell of blood, sweat, adrenaline, hatred. Anger, frustration. And fucking musk. All into my nostrils, right down my lungs, blending with my being.

I don't know what's happening for sure, but then, there's metal in my head, I feel like a fucking magnet, I feel like… ― it can't be explained properly with words, I think. And. I really need to rest. From a second to the next, all I'm seeing are blinding colours and flashes of light. It's all so fast and strong I even consider being high on something; exhaustion and adrenaline mixed, I don't know...? It's like I'm in a world I've never known before, hurting my eyes and pounding in my head and screaming words I can't discern. Sharp and sudden pain stinging and making me want to throw up, even when I've known oh-so-worse. A strange kind of embrace. Blood on blood, red flesh on red flesh. Hard, hot bodies. And a lot of hatred. But it's all over too fast, and I open my eyes on the pallid, blinding white light of a cold sun. A weird and strong smell, vinegar-like, right under my nose. Didn't know my bedroom looked so much like the Hueco Mundo. Or smelled like fucking French dressing. Have I been sleeping? Because, well, it feels so.  
Then, I realise.

I am not dead.

The thing under my nose is a flask of liquid, probably meant to wake me up. Thanks a lot, made me cough like mad, choking on desert dust and thin air.

Did I really just sleep? It feels like hours have been going on, at least.  
Purple eyes are looking back at me. And I wonder. Why purple.

Where is the blue.

Where is my opponent.

Where is Grimmjow.

My chest hurts, and so do thousands of places in, and on my body.

Rukia's smiling, softly. She doesn't looked worried. If anything, she's relieved.

‘You just collapsed.’ She makes it sound like it's barely been ten seconds. ‘He fled. But did something weird before that.’

She takes my hand, gently, not the one still holding Zangetsu, and shows it to me. There's a long cut on my palm, blood-splattered and looking a bit deep. I'm seeing stars, colours, lights, yet again. And I don't know why, but it appears to me, our bloods are indeed mingled together. My blood smells like him. I smell him all over me.

 

And it's overwhelming.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Kay so this was my first _ever **real**_ fanfiction, first publication here, first GrimmIchi, first summary written, well... I'm not feeling confident at all and I don't know if this is going to be read at all, but. I enjoyed writing it. So I guess this is good enough. I'll be happy if anyone else can enjoy it too, really.  
>  Also I'm working on a translation of this work into French, which is my first language. Please do tell me if you spot any language mistake, and err. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! 
> 
> (Dunno how to rate and tag it, too, uhh (help (please (I'm lost (heLP)))))


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